O'Brien's was a respectable pub. . . almost too respectable for Wesley's patronage but the titular proprietor manned his station behind the bar with efficiency and discretion. He didn't comment on Wesley's habits or drinking constitution so Wes had returned perhaps more than was prudent for a man who was attempting to get lost in the nameless, untraceable cracks of society. This became particularly evident when Wesley saw the door of the pub swing open to admit Gunn.

Gunn stood in the doorway, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior lighting. Wesley noted that this time he'd forgone the expensive suit in favor of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt.

Most likely got some particularly unsavory stain during his last harassment attempt Wesley thought. A moment later he chastised himself for the uncharitable thought. Gunn's attempts to convince him to return to L.A. were unwelcome but he knew that if the tables were reversed, he would be hounding Gunn just as doggedly. This knowledge didn't change the fact that his attempts were met with refusals that were as chilly as Wesley could make them. No matter how aimless he felt, he had no intention of ever setting foot in Los Angeles again.

Wes looked down at the glass in his hand and swirled the contents. The alcohol barely managed to dull the pain these days. Usually all he got for his troubles was dimmed emotion and a raging hangover. Nevertheless, the hope of substance-induced amnesia was better than nothing.

He detected a movement out of the corner of his eye and knew that Gunn was on his way over to his table. Wesley chose to ignore him for the time being, hoping that this might be the time that Gunn looked at him, gave up, and turned back around.

Wesley raised an eyebrow and smiled thinly, but it never reached his eyes.

"Not quite the proposition I was anticipating tonight." He drained the rest of the contents of his glass and set it down before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out some cash. Laying it on the bar, he slipped off the bar stool and glanced at Gunn, who was still sitting at the bar.

"Yeah well, I just can't wait to get you back to my place Wes." Gunn stood. "Yeah let's go. My car's out back."

They were silent on the walk to the car, and for the ride to the hotel, though Gunn could feel Wes's eyes on him for much of it. Gunn made sure to watch the road and not give in to the urge to meet the eyes of the man next to him.

It wasn't until they pulled into the Aurora hotel's parking lot that he finally spoke.

"Come on inside Wes, I've got coffee and painkillers all ready for you."

Wesley wasn't sure he planned to stay long enough to need the offered coffee and medication, but he kept that to himself for the time being. Opening the car door, he slid out and methodically assessed the parking lot, automatically looking for signs of danger or ambush. He paid special attention to the cars, half-expecting to see one of Angel's nestled among the slightly cheaper models that graced the lot.

Everything appeared normal so Wesley followed Gunn to his room, waiting as Gunn swiped the key card and the light turned green. Gunn pointed to a chair and poured Wes a cup of coffee. He snatched a bottle of pills off the counter and handed it to Wes along with the coffee before sitting down.

Several moments passed in tense silence, Wesley waiting for Gunn to begin and Gunn waiting, he suspected, for Wesley to down the pills and start trying to sober up. Sighing, he counted out two aspirin and downed them with a gulp of the strong, almost-hot coffee.

"Are you planning on telling me why you've bothered finding me this time, or am I to have 20 guesses?"

It took Wesley a few extra seconds to process Gunn's words and the cognitive impairment couldn't all be attributed to the alcohol. New York? It wasn't at all what Wesley had expected, so far, in fact, from what he'd expected that he took another drink of the coffee and forced himself to focus.

"It's a bubbling cesspool of American humanity, but infinitely better than any of the other places I've been. Why do you ask? Does the New York branch of Wolfram & Hart need another loyal stooge? If that's the case then please spare your breath. I believe I've given more than I ever cared to give to that hell on earth and I will never go back."

He looked at Gunn, caught his gaze and held it. Wesley had no idea why Gunn stayed at Wolfram & Hart. He'd been so infuriated when he'd found out the man's role in Fred's death, but he'd eventually come to believe that Gunn was plagued with guilt and remorse over his own culpability. Wesley wondered if they had some hold over Gunn that he wasn't aware of, but he knew it would be useless to ask.

He'd tried anyway.

"I'd urge you to follow my lead. Angel feels trapped there, but you are free to leave."

This happened every so often when he'd come to visit Wes in the past. In the midst of Gunn trying to get Wes to return, Wes would try to get Gunn to leave. Gunn hadn't ever been able to explain his staying to Wes's satisfaction. He wondered if it would be easier to explain if he was a little more convinced it was the right thing.

He shook his head slowly.

"Not everybody deals with guilt by running Wes. And not everybody finds it easy to walk away from their responsibilities. I let Fred die so I could fill my brain with legal crap, I have to try to use it. And no, I'm not asking you to work for W&H New York. I'm asking you to work against it."